Foresight
A Short Story
"Stay low to the ground. Orks are larger than us and tend to fire high." Sergeant yells, as we run for cover. The city's in ruins, fires spreading, buildings shattered. A cacophony of screams, gunfire and explosions assaults my ears as I run. My flak armour bounces on my shoulders as I ran, ill-fitting and loose. "Loose is good." Sergeant had told me. "Stops any impact damage, if it stops anything."
"Where are they?" Helvard asks, eyes wide with panic. His lasgun shakes, and his brow is pale with sweat.
"Heading right for us, probably." Sergeant responds clinically, peeking over the barricade we hide behind, lasgun tight in his shoulder. "Alright, here's what we're going to do." He turns to us, his voice calm. "Helvard, Calan, you're going to provide supressing fire. Once they blow, we're gone, understand?" We nod in unison.
"But sergeant, our orders are to hold this position." Dellax protests meekly. He doesn't have his father to look after him now, and he's scared.
"We can hold it better from that hab-block we passed. Out here we're closer to the Ork lines." Sergeant replies curtly. "Alright, ready?" Helvard and I shoulder our weapons. "Suppressive fire!" Sergeant barks, and we step out, firing as we go, holding down the trigger and hosing anything that moves, as the others peel around behind us to the hab-block. Its only a few seconds, and then we turn as well, running as fast as we can, rounds chewing up the dirt around us, armour bouncing like a silly toy. Helvard drops, the top of his head missing, body flopping, as guttural roars get closer behind me. I keep running, as the others ahead of me turn around into firing positions, las-fire snapping behind me.
I scramble through the door, lungs bursting, as Sergeant drags me further in, firing as he does so.
"Where's Helvard? He asks urgently, eyes focused on the door. All I can do is shake my head, desperately sucking in air. He grimaces, as the bellows grow louder. The others around me look outwards, lasguns raised, arms shaking, eyes wide. "Wait for my order." Sergeant barks above the chaos. We see them now, a tide of teeth and green and metal, rushing towards us. Standing unsteadily, I lean against the doorway, aiming at the head of the closest greenskin. "Wait." Sergeant says, hands twitching. I can see their eyes, bloodshot and yellow. "Now!" He screams, and we open fire, holding down triggers, pouring hot red lasfire into the mob. Some drop, but many still stand, rushing, getting closer, twenty yards, ten, five. As the largest is within arms reach of me, a thunderous staccato beat opens up, and the mob is pulverized like fruit.
"Heavy bolter kill-zone." Sergeant explains as the last one drops. "They fall for it every time." He always knows what they fall for. Then again, he has the experience. Anyone would learn a lot in three weeks here.
